


Pop The Question

by karkatfreckles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karkatfreckles/pseuds/karkatfreckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Kanaya Maryam and you’re preparing yourself to ask your matesprit a question that has been delicately gnawing at the edges of your mind like a hungry moth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pop The Question

Your name is Kanaya Maryam and you’re preparing yourself to ask your matesprit a question that has been delicately gnawing at the edges of your mind like a hungry moth.

It always finds your think pan in the most inconvenient of times. You feel the inquiry nagging you when Rose is predisposed, sleeping or compromised by her human alcohol. You know better than to broach the delicate subject when she has imbibed her share of soporifics. When she is compromised she has a hard time focusing on anything pressing and an even harder time taking any of it seriously. You also find yourself lacking any desire to dampen her spirits as such. She is almost unapproachable during these times, wrapped up in laughter that comes easily and a smile always gracing her lovely black-painted lips. Her sobriety is not so fleeting, but the question never seems to find you at a convenient time.

The first time you pondered it, the Seer was sleeping quietly with her head rested on your lap. Your right hand stroking idly through her pale golden hair while your left held open the evening’s reading material. Your rainbow drinker novels still held some enjoyment in spite of past developments through which you yourself became a rainbow drinker. While the romanticism of the affliction was sometimes wearisome, you always found yourself returning to the overly elaborate tales in your free time. As complex and intriguing as you used to find the concept of a troll’s relationship with a rainbow drinker, you find yourself amused by it now. Something about being a rainbow drinker and having a relationship with a completely alien species certainly put these books into perspective for you. It was during a particularly heated moment in the story as the protagonist professed her undying hatred for an antagonist-turned-kismesiss that you are suddenly distracted from the story. The question demands your attention and brings a jade flush to your cheeks. You are covertly glad no one is around to see it.

The second time the query finds you, Rose is thoroughly compromised. She is seated in front of the table in the library where your many stacks of books are located, where the pair of you do as much research into Sburb and its various sessions as possible. You are unsure of what triggered her drinking this time, but she is thoroughly disposed. Her torso is sprawled over the table, her face pressed against the surface, and her right hand clutching the wine bottle. On the table sits a wine glass, toppled over with the contents spilled and forgotten. You are silently grateful she had the forethought to move aside your research materials so they might be spared from ruin via red wine.

You call out to her delicately, knowing that after a certain period of time after imbibing alcohol she transitions from jovial and carefree to fatigued and ailed. You do not wish to aggravate any potential migraine or other malady from which she might be suffering. As you cross the room you look over her features, watching the delicate rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes. The elegant curve of her neck, the back of it bared from beneath the short crop of pale blonde strands. Again you are assailed by the inquiry but the opportunity to act is denied as you find that Rose has passed out and only vaguely stirs into any semblance of consciousness long enough for you to help her to bed.

Every scenario has been similar, always wanting to ask but never able to find the right moment. You are thoroughly grateful when the opportunity presents itself, the combined efforts of finding Rose sober and conscious as well as your think pan’s ability to bring the question to your attention at a reasonable time. Your only obstacle now is your own trepidation and nervousness.

She is seated in the library, her eyes scanning seamlessly across the words of some old tome. Her left hand is threading absently through her hair, occasionally twisting a lock around her finger. You almost want to back out, thinking how easy it would be to abscond and do your best to simply pretend the question never entered your mind. You know it’s not as simple as that. It doesn’t help that Rose is brilliant at reading you and getting in your head. She probably knows you want to ask her something but she is simply letting you come to her.

You force yourself to abolish your anxiety and steel your resolve. With a quiet sigh, you force yourself to move forward, further into the room and to seat yourself next to your matesprit. You have to make a conscious effort to not move silently, something that seemed to have developed second nature upon your undead resurrection. After a moment Rose looks up from her book to you and smiles and for a moment you can feel your bloodpusher flutter just a little. Her genuine smiles, uninfluenced by soporifics or human sarcasm, are rare and often fleeting. Seeing them always seems to tear the world from under your feet and leave you reeling for just a moment. After a moment she is looking back at the book, but her idle hand has now moved to yours and entwined your fingers delicately. You feel the familiar betrayal of warmth on your pale cheeks and you are grateful that her eyes are directed at the words on the pages rather than the jade tint on your face.

It’s now or never. You can feel your bloodpusher beat faster, picking up speed, thumping heavily in your chest like a weight. You worry at your bottom lip with your fangs briefly, organizing your thoughts. This is a delicate question and you don’t want to create problems with insufficient verbal planning. After a moment, you gently squeeze the Seer’s hand and you can see the way her lips twitch upward just a little. She’s waiting patiently for you to work up your courage and you hate and love how she can read you so easily.

“Rose, I am loath to be the one to interrupt your reading,” You manage not to stutter or stumble over your words, even when her lavender eyes leave the yellowed pages of her book and are directed at you. Her expression is patient and content and you worry your bloodpusher might overexert itself the way it performs acrobatic feats in your ribcage. “But I do have a question that I have wanted to ask you for quite some time.”

It’s as concern settles into her expression that you realize no matter how long she’s known you’ve been mulling over this question in silence, she doesn’t know exactly what it is you wish to ask her. She no doubt has several theories but she knows they are just that: theories. She waits for you to continue, looking away only to move the book aside and clear a little more space on the table. There is amusement in her smile, concealing her trepidation.

“After what I had assumed was my first conversation with you, but was in fact a conversation with John, I acquired the necessary assistance to open the viewport on Trollian so I might observe you.” You are certain that if it wasn’t obvious this question had been bothering you for some time, Rose would have had some sort of commentary prepared. Perhaps “How unsettling.” Or perhaps something more wanton, if only to see you flustered. However, her concern overrides her snark and she is content to let you continue. “And the first time I saw you, I found you in a rather… compromising position.” You can feel the heat of the flush on your face and you find yourself rather interested in staring at the numerous words in the book Rose had been reading. Seeing them but not perceiving them.

If you had been looking at the Seer’s face you would have seen confusion settle in as she worked to recall what you might have seen. You may not be looking at her to see her befuddlement, but you can hear it in her voice. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Kanaya.”

Dread settles more snugly into your chest and you would love nothing more than to simply lie down for a few hours than have to elaborate. You find yourself glancing around the room and the adjacent corridors for any passersby or potential eavesdroppers. You know if Karkat were to overhear he would promptly have an aneurysm.

“Well, you opened a door and…” You pause, hoping this vague hint will be enough to jog her memory. You’re no longer certain if she doesn’t remember or if she does and she is simply getting too much enjoyment out of watching you struggle. She seems genuine when no realization seems to cross her expression and she continues to watch you silently, listening intently. “It was… rather… lewd. Certainly something you would find in more indecent cinema.”

She still seems baffled. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, dearest. I can’t say I recall engaging in any pornographic activities. Perhaps you could elaborate?” Even if she doesn’t recall the salacious incident, she is undoubtedly entertained watching you struggle. Her smile is less innocent and now carries that knowing and wry hint. It’s an expression that you adore on her, even when you are at her mercy. It makes you want to grab the collar of her robes and pull her forward and kiss her until both your lips are swollen and bruised. Perhaps you might at a later time, but for the moment you’re too far engaged in this conversation to back out now.

“You had a pail on your head!” Your frustration is evident in your tone and you know you would have shouted in perhaps any other context. However, the fear that someone might overhear keeps your voice instead at a harsh whisper. You can feel the jade flush on your face, spreading all the way up to the tips of your ears.

At first her expression is dumbfounded, but she recovers quickly and that sly smile is back. She is laughing and you feel embarrassed and it’s doing nothing to alleviate the burning sensation on your cheekbones.

“If it brings you any comfort, it wasn’t my idea. It seems John Egbert is quite the sexual deviant, seeing as how he is the one who placed the bucket on top of the door with the sole intention of it falling on my head.” You can feel the mortification spreading across your face in the blush’s wake. Rose quickly resumes speaking before you can think too much on the implications of this behavior. “Darling, you must keep in mind that buckets don’t carry the same implications for humans as they do for trolls. Their purpose on Earth was to hold cleaning supplies, not genetic material.” You’re not sure if it’s even possible for you to blush any harder, but you can feel your face making a valiant attempt. “It is also a common prank to balance these on top of thresholds in hopes that someone might pass through and cause the offending object to fall onto their heads. There is no sexual connotation or pornographic motive. John is simply far too fond of pranks to have spent any time worrying what any potential audiences might think.”

Even after receiving your answer, you still find the memory rather salacious. Seeing your future matesprit standing with a bucket on her head and seething with irritation for the following moments. You feel a pang of something akin to jealousy and indignation knowing John was the one to have done something so lewd, even if it had been innocent on his part.

She must be able to read all these thoughts because suddenly she is gently grabbing one of your horns and pulling you forward. You shudder at the sensation but are not left to ponder it as she kisses you firmly. At first you are worried this won’t prove enough of a distraction, but then she’s kissing you harder and her hands are working through your thick hair and her tongue is in your mouth. Suddenly you are incapable of even pondering the name John Egbert and what sort of implications his pranks may or may not have carried.

After several moments or days or hours, because time in the Furthest Ring doesn’t seem to exist, your tongues are disentangling and she pulls back just enough to catch her breath. She has that smile again, the one that drives you wild and makes you want to enthusiastically resume tasting her mouth.

“Of course, Kanaya, you are more than welcome to place me in equally compromising situations, especially if it might help abate your jealousy.” You are grateful no one is around because suddenly you can’t stop yourself from resuming your earlier ministrations, pulling the Seer onto your lap and holding her firmly against you with your arms around

**Author's Note:**

> My friend mentioned what Kanaya must think about the fact that the first time she saw her girlfriend/matesprit, she saw her doing something one might expect to see in troll pornography. This is the result.  
> I also wanted to build it up as much as possible to make it seem like Kanaya was going to ask Rose something super important. Because I'm a douche bag.


End file.
